The CEO's Regret: His Lost Wife's Secret Twins novel Chapter 22

Chapter 22

ARIA

TI

I didn’t go to work the next day. My hand hurt too much, and I used it as an excuse to stay home. But

sitting alone in my apartment felt worse than the pain.

I stirred the soup in my small kitchen. Chicken and ginger, the way Dad had taught me when I was ten. The

steam carried that familiar scent. My bandaged hand pressed against my stomach – I had a follow-up

appointment today.

Mrs. Grant would want this soup. Dad always said it could cure anything.

The drive to Redwood Medical took forty minutes. I held the thermos with my good hand, trying not to

think about Blake. About the whiskey on my face. About his voice saying “get out.”

She was sitting up in bed when I arrived, looking stronger than yesterday. Her face brightened when she saw

“Aria! You didn’t have to come.”

“I wanted to.” I set the container on the table beside her bed. “I brought you something.”

She opened it and the smell of ginger filled the room. “Oh, this smells wonderful.”

“My dad’s recipe. It’s supposed to have healing powers or something.” I tried to sound casual, but my voice

came out tight.

Elaine looked at me carefully. Then her eyes dropped to my hand. “What happened to you?”

I had wrapped it poorly this morning, and the bandage looked worse than yesterday. “Oh, this? I’m so

clumsy. Tripped on the sidewalk.”

“That looks serious.”

“It’s fine. Looks worse than it feels. Doesn’t even hurt.” The lie came easily. Too easily.

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We talked for a while. Small things. Safe things. She told me about the nurses, about the terrible hospital

food, about missing her garden. I told her about work, about Blake being impossible, about the weather.

Normal conversation. The kind that filled space without saying anything real.

But then she asked about my hand again.

“You should get that checked. You’re favoring it.”

“I will. Actually, I need to go down to Orthopedics anyway. Might as well.”

“I’ll come with you. I need my follow-up done too.”

So we went together. Two women with injuries, walking slowly through hospital corridors that smelled of

antiseptic and cafeteria food.

The nurse took us back right away. Same examining room. Same harsh lights overhead.

Dr. Peterson came in, efficient and brisk. He checked Elaine first, nodded with satisfaction at her progress,

then turned to me.

“Let’s see that hand.”

He unwrapped the bandage carefully. His fingers were gentle but thorough, probing the swelling.

“You need X-rays. This could be fractured.”

“It’s just a sprain.”

“We’ll see.” He made notes on his tablet. “While you’re here, I want to do a full check. You said you had

chronic neck pain?”

I should have said no. Should have made an excuse. But Elaine was watching, and I didn’t want to worry

her.

“Sometimes. It’s old. From years ago.”

He had me sit on the exam table. His hands moved to my neck, pressing gently along my spine.

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Chapter 22

Then his fingers stopped. His face changed.

“When did this happen?”

“When did what happen?”

“Your cervical spine. There’s significant damage here.” His voice had gone cold. Professional. The voice

doctors use when they find something bad.

My heart started beating faster. “I told you. It’s old.”

“How old?”

“Ten years. I was at the Grant house, being stupid. Climbed a tree and fell.”

He kept examining. His fingers traced the bones of my neck with increasing pressure. His expression grew

darker.

“This isn’t from falling out of a tree.”

The room suddenly felt too small. “What?”

“This is a vertical compression injury. The force came from directly above.” He pulled out his phone, showing me a diagram. “See this? Your C5 vertebra has a compression fracture. This happens when something heavy hits you from overhead. Not from falling.”

The world stopped moving.

Christine’s voice echoed in my head. You fell from a tree. You were unconscious for hours.

But Dr. Peterson was saying something else. Something that didn’t match the story I’d believed for ten

years.

“Are you sure?” My voice sounded strange. Distant.

“I’m sure. I’ve seen hundreds of spinal injuries. This was caused by a heavy object striking downward. The fracture pattern is unmistakable.”

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My mind raced. Christine had been there that day. She’d found me. She’d told me what happened.

She’d lied.

Images flashed through my mind. Fragments I’d always thought were dreams. Fire. Heat. The smell of

smoke. Something falling toward me. Emma screaming.

“No! That wasn’t me! She did it herself-”

Whose voice was that? Not mine. I’d been unconscious. So why did I remember it?

Then pain. Then darkness. Then waking up in a hospital bed with Christine holding my hand, telling me I’d been foolish, climbing trees I shouldn’t climb.

“I need to do an MRI.” Dr. Peterson’s voice cut through the chaos in my head. “Full imaging of your cervical

and thoracic spine.”

“No.”

“This is serious. You could have permanent nerve damage. You need-”

“I said no. I’m busy with work. Maybe in a few months.”

He looked at me for a long moment. “Your spine is compromised. Any additional trauma could cause paralysis. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Something didn’t add up. The tree story Christine had told me for ten years. The injury Dr. Peterson just described. They didn’t match.

Had she lied to me?

I pushed the thought away. Maybe the doctor was wrong. Maybe I was remembering it wrong. Maybe it

didn’t matter anymore.

I didn’t want to think about it. Not now. Not yet.

Elaine touched my shoulder. “Aria, you should listen to him.”

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“I will. Just not now.” I slid off the exam table. “Thank you, Dr. Peterson.”

I left before he could argue. Elaine called after me, but I kept walking.

My feet carried me through the hospital. Up elevators. Down corridors. I wasn’t thinking. Wasn’t planning.

Just moving.

I found myself outside my father’s room.

He’d been in a vegetative state for years now. The doctors said he might never wake up. But sometimes I still came here, still talked to him. Hoping somewhere deep inside, he could hear me.

I needed that now. Needed to tell him about the neck injury, about the lies, about everything falling apart. Needed him to wake up and explain what really happened that day.

I pushed open the door.

Christine stood beside his bed. Her hand was on the breathing tube. She was pulling at the connection, her fingers working to disconnect it from the ventilator.

She turned and saw me.

We stared at each other across the room, and neither of us moved.

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